


The Taste of Moonlight

by laEsmeralda



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run to rescue Merry and Pippin, Aragorn obsesses over the fate of his comrades. Legolas understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Moonlight

Legolas left his watch and went to crouch next to Aragorn. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "I can hear your restlessness. You must sleep."

"I cannot," muttered Aragorn, defeated. "Darkness is hard upon me."

"Tell me." There was a spell upon his elvish words for he knew that Aragorn would not easily speak of his trouble.

"The Ring is gone from our presence. But they are all gone too." Aragorn stared up at the sky. "Gandalf and Boromir to the waste of death. Frodo and Sam to an impossible journey. Merry and Pippin to torture at the hands of orcs." Aragorn's voice fell away, and Legolas knew that the last bothered Aragorn the most tonight, for it was something in which they might still make a difference.

"The orcs are making all haste back to Saruman; there is little time for torture."

Aragorn's eyes flicked to the cool gaze above him, searching, and then he nodded. "We have seen no trace of such along their path. But it will come if we do not reach them." Aragorn began to rise. "If I cannot sleep, then we should resume the chase."

"Nay, have a care for Gimli. He takes two steps for each of ours." Legolas pressed him back to the blanket. "If we are to find our comrades and battle a band of Uruk-Hai at the end of that run, we must have all three of us as fit as we can be." 

"Gimli seems without a care." Aragorn glanced over at the still, silent form curled around his axe, his back to a large rock.

"He finds the dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion, my friend. His reserves are gone, but he will not let on to us." Legolas sighed, feeling how his affection for Gimli had grown. "He saves face if we call for rest. Better that you actually rest, though," he finished with a smile.

"I cannot banish the images to let myself sleep," Aragorn groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"What do you see?" 

"The harm that will come to the hobbits. You saw how Boromir looked upon Frodo toward the end. And he was a good man." Aragorn's voice cracked.

"It was the corruption of the Ring. But Frodo and Sam are not with the orcs, and Merry and Pippin have not the Ring." Legolas was quiet for a few moments, thinking. Saruman trusted his power over the orcs to guarantee that they would bring the hobbits to him. But Saruman was wrong about many things. Logic did not banish the images of evil for Legolas, and he could not expect logic to clear the human's mind. "Let me help you sleep," he said.

"You are welcome to try. Will you sing me an elvish lullaby? Or give me a sleeping draught?" The sardonic edge to Aragorn's voice made Legolas chuckle.

"Your spirit is not entirely crushed by darkness," he retorted. He stretched out upon his side, braced on his elbow. "Trust me," he said. His lips covered Aragorn's and he breathed in the quiet sound of surprise. His hand brushed a lock of hair aside and smoothed the ragged beard as he deepened the kiss. He felt surprise subside in the shift of Aragorn's chin, and the man opened to him. Aragorn did not reach for him, but seemed to welcome him, dazed and bewildered. 

Legolas' hand slid over Aragorn's throat and came to rest on the bright jewel. He pressed it reverently, feeling it warm under his fingers for a few long moments. Then, he continued on, slipping his hand under the loosened shirt. Legolas brushed over Aragorn's chest, pausing only a breath before moving to caress Aragorn's stomach. His mouth did not leave the kiss. His fingers continued their lazy circles around Aragorn's navel until the man's hand lifted, hovered tentatively by Legolas' face, and then came to rest on his cheek, trapping a tendril of silver hair under it. At that, Legolas slipped his hand down much further and found Aragorn hard.

Gentle and reserved to that point, Legolas made a hungry noise. His fingers tightened, making Aragorn gasp into the kiss. Legolas struggled only a moment or two in baring skin. He stroked and teased, varying the pressure, testing the boundary between pleasure and roughness. Aragorn had repeatedly sweat and dried these past two days of running; Legolas could feel the fine powder of minerals that remained on his skin from it. He wondered if he would harm Aragorn's smoothness with the rasp of his palm over such grit. 

But Aragorn's hips were moving now, his breath issuing in rhythm with them. A drop of wet fell on the back of Legolas' hand. His fingers went exploring and found just enough slippery fluid to smooth his movements. That touch caused the softest of groans as Aragorn tried to stifle the increase in pleasure. 

Legolas played with Aragorn's mouth, no longer allowing the satisfaction of a full kiss. He fought to keep his head, to train some of his keen senses on their surroundings, but the feel of the hard length in his hand and of Aragorn's unexpectedly tender lips made his blood roar in his ears. 

Aragorn came in near-silence, thrusting hard into Legolas' grip, clawing the ground beneath himself, his breath harsh. 

The elf lifted his arm and tasted the back of his hand. His mind flooded with Aragorn's essence and he repressed a groan. Carefully, he wiped them both with a bit of cloak and tightened Aragorn's laces. "I think you will sleep now," he said, moving back to kneeling. 

Grey eyes perused him. "What of you?" Aragorn asked, drowsy.

"That was not my purpose. I wished to give a warrior's comfort so that you might sleep," Legolas said with humor.

"The darkness has retreated, but I need to remember the light before I sleep," Aragorn replied in kind.

With a wry smile, Legolas waited. Aragorn slid over until his cheek rested on one of Legolas' thighs, then paused. Watching in the darkness that was not dark for an elf, Legolas held his breath and ached. He was afraid to stir, as if Aragorn were a deer that might flee at too much movement. Aragorn's fingers traveled slowly up a thigh, his thumb pressing through the worn suede to feel the muscles underneath. His hand closed over the ache and Legolas released his held breath more loudly than he intended. Aragorn glanced up at him. With one hand, he unlaced the breeches and freed Legolas, wrapping his fingers around the white length. His other hand moved to lazily caress the elf's backside. 

"Ah, not a novice," Legolas whispered, allowing his hands to ruffle through Aragorn's hair. He watched the dark-stained hand moving over his own pale flesh and felt the blood leave his face in a tingling rush to the source of pleasure. Aragorn experimented with his touch, eventually settling upon a firm grip in which his calluses did not chafe the delicate skin. 

Legolas caught his bottom lip in his teeth. He savored, not rushing to the conclusion for which his body cried out. At one point, he began to come and stopped it with his inner muscles, shuddering with thwarted release.

"That is masterful control," hissed Aragorn. He rolled to kneeling and plunged Legolas into his mouth, one hand still wrapped tightly around him, fingers brushing wherever they could reach.

Legolas braced himself on Aragorn's shoulder, keeping a hand fast in Aragorn's hair. In a little time, he did not care to wait any longer. He bent toward Aragorn's ear. "My friend, you would do well to move off." Aragorn did not desist. "I fear my taste will scald you." Such was the legend of elves with humans, a legend he had never tested. At that, the hand on his backside squeezed harder and the hot mouth would brook no further acts of willpower. He bowed back, thrusting his hips forward and arching his throat to the sky. Aragorn took it all, with no choking, no hesitance.

Finally, Legolas sat back hard on his heels, still clutching Aragorn's shoulder for support. Aragorn clasped the back of Legolas' head and drew their foreheads together. 

"Did I burn your lips?" Legolas asked when he could speak.

"Nay, only my loins." They both chuckled. "Remember, I am not all human, though the elf is far away in my line. You taste like the bark of green wood, the brine of deep seas, and winter moonlight."

Legolas grinned and drew his cheek across Aragorn's forehead. "How does moonlight taste?"

"It is so bright and sharp it leaves you breathless." 

Legolas stroked Aragorn's tangled and dusty hair. "I am afraid you provided greater breathlessness than I did."

"Nay." Aragorn pressed his lips to Legolas' throat. "Your elvish sleeping draught proves magic. I will dream like a babe until you wake me for another cursed day of running." With that, he lay back and settled himself into the hollow of his cloak and blanket, closing his eyes.

Legolas rose to go back to his watch, glancing back once to see a smile on Aragorn's already sleeping face. He sighed and turned his attention to the far distance to await the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Written July 2004. Beta: Libitina.


End file.
